


A Complex Friendship

by KindListener



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Accents, Benoit is a Booty Call, Booty Calls, Dirty Talk, M/M, Older Characters, Older Man/Younger Man, To Be Continued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: You’ve known Benoit for, basically, all your life. Now, you got yourself mixed in with a bad guy and he’s the only man that can help.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc (Knives Out)/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Kudos: 31





	A Complex Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Set before the events of Knives Out.

You met a young Benoit Blanc after your father hired him to figure out the murderer of your mother.  
“Nasty business.” He had said and your father had nodded through grief-stricken tears. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” He was twenty-one, you were coming of age, at fifteen.

You met Ransom not long after. He was a new kid, at school. Kept having to get transferred for one reason or another. He had no friends, apart from the kids in the years above whose parents saw dollar signs when he showed up. Your father, however, was always too wrapped up in himself. Usually drunk and unable to process things, correctly, he had given up his job and watched TV all day. What a waste.

You met Blanc, again, when he had another case, in Marlborough, eight years later. Your father had suffered a fatal heart attack, two years prior, while you were at university. Again, very bad business. You worked at the Painted Lion, in town, when you weren’t studying, and guess who just so happened to stumble in. He recognised you the moment you went to take his order. He pointed at you and spoke your name.  
“How’re things since your mother passed?” That Southern drawl never ceased to make you shiver. You told him the truth.  
“After Mom died, Dad became an alcoholic, I went to university and my dad died of a heart attack, two summers ago.” You told him and he sighed.  
“I’m sorry. It’s gotta be tough.” He placed his hand over yours, on the bar, and that... That crossed the line.

Back at yours, the apartment was dark but you could still smell the timely scent of home; Sunday roasts, Mom’s perfume and Dad’s whiskey. Sandy blonde hair passed through your fingers as he pressed his lips to yours. Eight years of pining had, finally, come to fruition and, if only for one blinding moment, Benoit was yours. He pressed you into the mattress and moaned out your name when you stripped him bare and raked your nails down his strong, broad shoulders. Eight years-worth of fantasies zoomed into your peripheral vision as his piercing eyes found you, naked, below his gaze. You tongued at his neck and he hissed when you bit down on the flesh of his throat. His groans tumbled through his chest as he mumbled sweet, Texan nothings against your ear. You had built Benoit to be an unstoppable force, a god of his own making, and here he was, a hand on your cock and the other braced against your chest. You wanted to hear more of his lust-drunk ramblings but when his teeth barely grazed the underside of your cock and you buckled against his mouth, you thought this would be fine, too.

Everything had changed. The whole dynamic between you had changed, especially when you braced him against the head of your bed and entered him with a rough moan against his ear.  
“Oh, shit...” He had groaned when you worked your cock into him. Long fingers twisted against the headboard as you drew out then in.  
“Benoit, take my cock.” You breathed against his ear and his heart seemed to stop. “You’re such a good boy.” He whined at your words and reached down to curl a hand around his own length. You slapped his hand away, twisting his head to the side and claiming his lips, again. “Tell me how much you like it.” He swallowed his pride.  
“I want you inside me, so bad... Fuck... Please, don’t stop... I couldn’t... Oh, my God... Please, fill— Holy shit... Please, just fill me up. Goddamn, I just want to—” You’d heard enough and wormed your fingers passed his lips and he sucked, like a whore, at the digits. You didn’t last long after that. You did as he asked and filled him to the brim with pent up lust and fantasies of years gone by. You curled up under the covers and cradled him until you heard the soft rumble of snoring.

He stayed the night but left, early, the next morning, leaving his number on the kitchen counter and slipping out, like a ghost. You wouldn’t see him for years, after that night.

Twenty-one years later and Ransom had, quickly, become your lover, shortly after your school reunion. There was this idea that had been tugging at your sleeve for the longest time. Something that you’d thought about doing since you last saw Ransom, when you were eighteen. Thankfully, Ransom was into older guys so he took the idea on-board, pretty fast. After twenty-one long years, you reached for the phone and called Benoit to Ransom’s home, where you’d moved in, a few months prior. He’d be there, soon.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
